


The Rage is Real

by riverchic1998



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Stiles Stilinski is Not Amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2821694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All of the things will be done to your person because you are amazing and you love me like I love curly fries.”</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to say that I love you like you love <i>me</i>?”</p><p>Stiles blinks, unsure of where Derek is going with this question. “My love of curly fries is eternal. What the hell is wrong with you?"</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I should be asking <i>you</i> that.”</p><p>---</p><p>Or: Stiles just wants his damn curly fries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rage is Real

**Author's Note:**

> It's been forever since I've written anything, and of course what I write first is this. I'm... sorry?
> 
> Thanks to [Jacy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jacyevans) for the beta. You are my favorite, even if you laugh at my struggles when I just want some damn curly fries.

He just wants some damn curly fries. 

That’s it. Simple request. Curly fries. Not the salty, yellow fiends that either come in two forms - _break a tooth, rock solid_ or _you may as well call them mashed potatoes_. He wants the crispy, flavorful, swirly goodness that deserve a hallelujah chorus every time someone takes a bite. 

Stiles drums his fingers against the steering wheel as he glares out the windshield. It’s Christmas Eve, and he forgot the diner was closing early so the staff could celebrate with their families. He’s not angry because he’s opposed to the diner closing early for the holidays. He’s angry because he was so busy wrapping presents that he didn’t pay attention to the clock, so by the time he raced to the diner, it was already closed. 

The normally bright blue neon lights in the faded sign, luring various travellers into Eddie’s Diner, are off. The equally faded red paint on the door is partially covered with a printed sign displaying the diner’s holiday hours and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. The blue and white store sign is flipped to closed, but the blue and red LED _Open_ sign is still on, flashing enticingly in the dark window. It had given him false hope. It was a relatively new feature in the diner, and someone must have forgotten to turn it off. Stiles whimpers. Damn you, literal false advertisement.

So with a sigh, Stiles does something he swore he would never, ever do. He pulls out of the parking lot and heads to the new chain fast food restaurant that actually offers curly fries. 

He honest to god cringes when he thinks about it. When the chain first moved to the edge of town, where the new shopping center was built - because it’s not like they have a fucking abandoned mall just sitting in the middle of town, free for businesses to use - his friends wasted no time in informing him that curly fries were on the menu. But chain fries are _frozen_ for god’s sake. 

The curly fries at Eddie’s are fresh cut every day, seasoned with a secret breading that Eddie himself created decades before. No one but the maker of fries was allowed to know which spices made it into the recipe. Each order always has the perfect mix of loose and tight curl, never bunched and tangled together. They were like snowflakes - no fry is the same. They’re perfectly unique. Just _thinking_ about them makes Stiles’ mouth water. 

But he wants curly fries. He’s been craving them for a week and with finals and last minute Christmas shopping for the pack, he just hasn’t had the time to swing by and get some. This will be his last chance for a while, before the pack goes on their annual epic celebration week between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day. He’ll be surprised if they all leave the house.

The fast food place is farther out of his way than he’d like, but he does all sorts of things for his loves. While waiting at a red light, Stiles pulls out his phone and texts Derek.

**To: Derek**  
 _be back later than planned. Eddie’s was closed already so heading to the place that shall not be named._

The response comes after the light has changed, so Stiles has to use sneaky maneuvers to check his phone but not actually show his phone, just in case a deputy sees. His dad said that if he gets another traffic violation for being on the phone while driving, he’s not going to shuffle it under the table. 

**From: Derek**  
 _I thought you swore to never step foot inside there_

Stiles snorts. He may have gone on an epic rant about the evils of fast food chain restaurants, the dangers of reusing frying oil, and the unhygienic practices of workers when the chain first showed up and everyone was excited about the ability to get curly fries in a drive thru.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles types out a response. 

**To: Derek**  
 _desperate times call for desperate Mediterranean_

“Oh fuck you, autocorrect,” Stiles snaps, eyes darting between the road and his phone, fingers hitting the screen harder than necessary.

**To: Derek**  
 _measures*_

He’s only about five minutes away, but he still has to wait for the traffic. Last-minute shoppers have swarmed the new shopping center, getting gifts and wrapping paper and being a general nuisance when all he wants is curly fries. While sitting at yet another light - green this time, although traffic was at a complete standstill because _people can’t fucking drive_ \- he gets another text.

**From: Derek**  
 _You told me that if you ever decided to go there, I’m supposed to tell you that you have things to live for and to not go toward the light, but I really want some tater tots. You ate the last bag in the freezer this morning._

Actually… Stiles did say that. He even wrote it out so that Derek could learn it. He had been deadly serious about never setting foot inside and betraying Eddie’s. There were swears and vows made, with actual witnesses. He even got one of the deputies to notarize the damn statements. _That’s how serious he is about his curly fries._

The bulky chain sign looms in the distance and Stiles makes a face. He’s never actually been to the fast food restaurant. He doesn’t even come to this side of town much, and he almost doesn’t get into the correct lane because of the traffic. Once he finally merges over, he’s momentarily confused by which turn to take, because there are more chain restaurants stacked next to each other, the fast food place he’s aiming for right in the middle of them, and only a few of them seem to have entrances into the parking lots.

Which is why he misses the entrance he actually needs and turns into the wrong fast food place. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he shouts, narrowly avoiding colliding with an asshole backing out of his parking place who isn’t paying the least bit of attention. Stiles contemplates laying on the horn, but ever since a sprite got stuck under his hood, the horn randomly cuts out with a squeaking noise that’s actually pretty embarrassing. 

He can salvage the situation though. Stiles takes a deep breath and makes another game plan. Most of the chains have access to a road that runs behind the parking lots and feed into each other, so he’ll be able to loop around and get to the drive thru via the access road.

Only the chain he wants to get to doesn’t attach to the access road. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles groans, turning into yet _another_ chain fast food restaurant so he can get back onto the main road and actually take the right turn this time. “I just want some fucking curly fries. Is that too much to ask?!”

Third time’s the charm, as he makes the correct turn into his destination. The line to the drive thru isn’t that long, thankfully, so he’s able to look at the menu and decide what he wants. He’ll get Derek his damn tater tots, but he’s also craving a burger now. And he has to have a drink with the burger, but he doesn’t want a big burger, because that’ll ruin his appetite. Plus it’s fast food, so ew. 

The voice asking him what he would like is so cheerful and peppy, Stiles wants to spork his own eyes out. “ _Hi! How can I help you today?_ ”

“Uhhh… “ Stiles blanks, before shaking his head and mentally reciting his order one last time. “Yeah, I’d like a large curly fry, a small tot, a medium Dr. Pepper, and a junior cheeseburger, ketchup only.”

He talks clearly and doesn’t rush. There are no ambient noises to drown him out. 

Which is why he doesn’t understand why the order on the screen in no way resembles what he just said. 

“ _Is everything correct on your screen?_ ”

“Wow,” Stiles says, blinking at the screen. “Um, yeah, that’s not what I ordered. I don’t want a combo or anything, because the sides and drink are different sizes, you know? So uh, just a large curly fry, small tot, and, uh, the drink was medium, not small. And ketchup only on the burger.”

A few things on the screen get changed around, and he nervously taps his fingers against his steering wheel. The line behind him has gotten longer since he’s waited for her to change things up in the order. The driver behind him is being a douche and inching forward, like it’ll make Stiles go quicker. 

_Finally_ , the order is correct. The total is rattled off and he pulls forward, hitching his hips up so he can grab his wallet from his back pocket, except his back pocket is _empty_. Stiles freezes in horror, because this could mean _he won’t get his curly fries_. He reaches under the seat, grasping at the ziploc bag of emergency money he keeps there and sighs in relief when he spots a twenty dollar bill among the odd one and five. This is definitely an emergency and he’s not letting a simple thing like a forgotten wallet get in his way. Even though this means he’s been driving without his license, _whoops_. 

His phone beeps and he pulls up the text message. 

**From: Derek**  
 _Did you get my tater tots?_

“Oh my god, I’m getting your damn tots, you whiny baby,” Stiles says with a huff. He responds with just the letter y, which he knows bugs the hell out of Derek. Feeling a little better, he tosses his phone onto the seat and pulls up to the window as the car in front of him pulls away. 

He hands over the twenty, giving the worker a smile when she hands him back his change and his drink. Stiles fumbles with the coins as he tries to reach for the cup, eventually just throwing them onto the floor so he can grab the drink. She’s still leaning awkwardly out the window and Stiles quickly reaches for the cup and straw - how the hell do they hold both at the same time like that, anyway? - and jamming it into the makeshift cupholder he rigged into the Jeep. 

The wait for the food takes longer, with the line of cars catching up to him at the window. Stiles fidgets in his seat, glancing into the restaurant and watching the workers quickly prepare the orders that will come after his. More and more cups line up at the window and two more fast food bags are placed by the cash registers. 

“Jesus, did they have to grow the potatoes?” Stiles mutters to himself, looking in his mirrors to gauge the attitudes of the drivers behind him. He’s tempted to pull forward so the other customers can get their food, but he doesn’t trust that the restaurant employees will understand where he went. Stiles even contemplates knocking on the window to tell them so, but he doesn’t want to be the awkward dude knocking at a fast food window and whining about how slow service is. 

The douchebag behind him begins his passive-aggressive, whiplash-inducing inching forward again and Stiles rolls his eyes. The temptation to flip the dude off is high, but the arrival of his food saves him the hassle. 

The worker hands it over with a smile. He returns it, putting the bag in the passenger seat before hitting the accelerator and getting the hell out of dodge. Traffic is still ungodly congested, but Stiles races between cars and gets back onto the main road without causing a five car pile-up. There’s an iffy moment when a car darts in front of him unexpectedly, but Stiles soccer-mom arms the fast food bag and yells about the joys of blinkers to make himself feel better. 

Once he gets towards the residential side of town, Stiles rewards himself for not committing vehicular homicide by diving into his curly fries. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches into the bag, pushing aside the tots and the burger, digging for the curly goodness he’s been craving.

His hand reaches the bottom of the bag without coming into contact with his curly goodness. Stiles’ eyes widen as he yanks the bag over to his hip. “No,” he says in horror, throwing the napkins in the backseat and grabbing for anything that isn’t a wrapped burger or container of tater tots. “Oh my god, _no_.”

Stiles tosses the bag to the passenger seat, betrayed. He maneuvers driving while scrabbling on the floor, looking for the receipt that had been tossed down with the change when he was in the awkward grabbing-his-drink stage at the drive thru. As he straightens the receipt out, eyes flicking between the paper and the road, he reads the list of items for which he was charged. They still fucked up the burger order - it had everything, not just ketchup, _fuckers_ \- and there was the innocently listed curly fries. Yet, there are no curly fries in his bag. 

He’s close to Derek’s loft, but he grabs his phone from the seat anyway and opens up a new text message. 

**To: Derek**  
 _OMG THE RAGE IS REAL I DID NOT GET MY CURLY FRIES_

His phone beeps with a response, but Stiles is honestly too livid to look. He focuses on his driving - reminding himself that if he gets pulled over, he is up shit creek without a paddle, even if he does know almost every deputy working for his dad - and decides to rage about it in person. 

When he arrives, he grabs the fast food bag, not even caring about his burger, and leaves his drink in the cup holder without even placing the straw inside. The loft is open since Derek was expecting him back, and Stiles throws the bag in his face when Derek looks up over the edge of the couch with a grin. 

“There! Have your fucking tater tots while I sit here _without_ my curly fries. Are you happy?” he snaps, getting angrier as Derek stands up, amusement clear on his face. “Are you happy, Derek? You got your preferred method of potato. Me? Oh no, it’s not like I had to fucking traverse a river of assholes to get to the damn fast food place, only to have Miss Sunshine personified fuck up my order and charge me for curly fries but neglect to actually give _me_ the curly fries.”

Stiles starts to pace, getting angrier as he goes. “And I bet they weren’t even that good! I was willing to eat _substandard curly fries_. This is how deep my love goes! But I was denied, not once, but twice. How is this my life?”

Derek crosses his arms and stays back, used to Stiles’ rampages by now. He knows better than to interrupt, lest he be caught in the crossfire. 

“And did someone put stupid juice in the water today?” Stiles asks rhetorically. “Were all the drivers out there high or something? Newsflash! You don’t own the road.” He gestures wildly, each movement sharper the more he goes on. “And why were there _so many_ of them? What the hell is it about the holidays that makes people think buying shit on Christmas Eve is a good idea? It’s not like they don’t know it’s coming! It literally happens _every year_.”

“Jesus Christ,” Derek mutters, risking bodily harm and stepping forward, pressing his hand against Stiles’ mouth. Stiles glares at him, but doesn’t move away. Most of the fight bleeds out of him, and Derek pulls him forward into a hug. He doesn’t care if he’s made fun of later. He totally snuggles in with a huff. “They’re just--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Stiles snaps, pressing his forehead against Derek’s shoulder _hard_. Mostly, it just gives him a headache, but Derek grunts at the pressure. “I don’t mock you for your love of tater tots or your obsession with almonds, so you don’t get to mock me.”

“Stiles,” Derek says with a chuckle. “You _always_ mock me when it comes to anything.”

He tries to shrug, but Derek has him pretty firmly wrapped up. “Whatever.”

With a sigh, Derek leads him over to the couch and pushes him down before heading to the tree. Stiles still has some presents he needs to wrap, the boxes lined up near the wall, but Derek’s presents are all done, perfectly wrapped and placed under the large Christmas tree the pack set up after Thanksgiving. 

He unabashedly stares at Derek’s ass when he bends over to pick up one of the presents. When Derek turns around, Stiles doesn’t even bother looking apologetic. He’s had an epically bad day, okay? If he can’t have curly fries, he can at least stare at his boyfriend’s ass. 

Derek grins as he hands Stiles a box. When Stiles takes it, he contemplates throwing it back at his head. “Yes, your present wrapping skills are the best in the land. It’s rude to brag, asshat.”

The grin falls as the more common glare takes its place and Stiles feels like the asshat himself. With a sigh, he gestures for Derek to sit. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just stressed and pissed off.”

“I had no idea,” Derek replies dryly, sitting down next to Stiles. “And I have no idea why you’d be stressed. It’s not like you took 18 credit hours this semester and aced all the finals, planned holiday parties, and kept up with your emissary training.”

He leans his head on Derek’s shoulder, gently this time, and sighs. “Yeah. But it’s worth it.”

“Even if you didn’t get your curly fries.”

“Watch it,” Stiles warns before holding up the small present in his hand. “So what’s this?”

Derek shrugs, making Stiles’ head bob up and down. Derek clearly knows what’s inside, but he’s trying to emulate Deaton and be _mysterious_. He gets enough of that during training, thanks. “It’s one of your Christmas presents, but I think you deserve to open one early.”

“Damn right I do,” Stiles mutters. He hesitates before finally tearing into the wrapping paper, ignoring the ribbon and pulling out a medium-sized piece of cardstock paper with a simple black border. Stiles frowns, because the logo for Eddie’s Diner, the same neon sign he glared at just half an hour earlier, is printed at the top. “What the hell…”

He reads the card, jaw dropping as he does so, because he’s holding a custom card for a year’s worth of free curly fries from Eddie’s, and the card is signed by the manager and cook himself. Stiles doesn’t know what to say, so he just turns to Derek with wide eyes. “I don’t… How…”

“Turn it over,” Derek says, nodding to the card, and holy crap, he doesn’t know if his heart can take much more of this. 

Stiles makes an extremely embarrassing squeak when he sees the recipe for Eddie’s curly fries printed on the back. Because this… it’s unheard of. Eddie’s Diner gives out gift cards for free meals and the like, but never an entire year of a dish. And he’s begged before, literally gotten on his hands and knees to plead for the curly fry recipe, but he’s been denied every single time. To have it given to him… Stiles doesn’t know what to say. 

He’s trying hard not to cry, because this is actually a really thoughtful - and expensive, because he can eat a hell of a lot of curly fries - gift. He’ll have to buy a potato peeler and a fryer, and then purchase stocks in potatoes because he’s about to buy every potato in the county. 

“I… I thought we were only getting each other three gifts?” Stiles asks, turning the card over carefully in his hand. “This should count as two, right? The gift card and then the recipe?”

“Nope. Just one.” 

Derek looks a little worried when Stiles puts the card down on the coffee table with extreme caution, treating the card like it’s made of glass. He puts a hand on Stiles’ thigh. “Stiles, are you--”

“Clothes off,” he demands. “Clothes off, right the fuck now. Surprise buttsex is happening.”

The worry disappears from Derek’s face, but he’s not ripping his shirt off like Stiles wants. Instead, he’s staring at Stiles incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Stiles tries to peel off Derek’s shirt, but he doesn’t get far since Derek is still leaning against the back of the couch. “I am going to do all the things to you. All of the things will be done to your person because you are amazing and you love me like I love curly fries.”

Derek still remains firmly pressed against the back of the couch so Stiles gives up on the shirt. Instead, he wriggles his way into Derek’s lap and immediately goes for the belt buckle. Derek’s hands on his hips make him slow down, but he doesn’t stop completely.

“Aren’t you supposed to say that I love you like you love _me_?”

Stiles blinks, unsure of where Derek is going with this question. “My love of curly fries is eternal. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m pretty sure I should be asking _you_ that.”

He gets the belt buckle undone but there’s no way he can get the pants down without Derek’s help. Stiles huffs; getting naked himself will be easier and more tempting. “Why are you being so difficult?” he asks, wrestling out of his shirt. “I’m trying to have thank you sex with you. As a thank you, obviously. It takes two to do the horizontal tango, and I can only do so much on my own.”

Derek pulls him forward and Stiles has to place his hands on Derek’s shoulders for balance. He’s about to make a snarky comment about Derek finally getting with the program, but Stiles gets a closer look at his face. He’s wearing a soft smile, the indulgent one he typically only has around Stiles. His thumbs dig into Stiles’ hips and the last of the tension in Stiles’ shoulders and neck disappear. 

With a sigh, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders, burying his face against Derek’s neck. One of the hands on his hip moves to his back as Derek slowly rubs up and down. He _has_ been tense, studying hard for his finals, wanting the holidays to be perfect for everyone. His sleep has suffered for it, as has his time spent alone with Derek. The same Derek who has been nothing but understanding, even if Stiles ate all his tater tots because he was feeling peckish that morning and didn’t want to actually cook anything. “Thank you for my curly fry present. I’m sorry I ate all your tater tots and only got you a small when I went to the evil place.”

Derek chuckles, the vibrations sending tingles up Stiles’ spine. “Thank you for decorating my place and making sure my pack spends the holidays together and keeping up with your training, even though I know you have been extremely busy.” He nudges Stiles back so Derek can place a kiss to his forehead, the sap. “How about you go take a bath, I’ll finish wrapping your presents while eating my small tater tots, and then we can have thank you sex after that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles groans, practically falling out of Derek’s lap as he starts to zombie walk to the stairs. Him relaxing while Derek does all the work with a promise of sex before the night is out? Win-win situation, even if the buttsex isn’t the surprise Stiles was aiming for. And he still gets to open his second and third presents the next day when most of the pack comes over for the first Christmas party.

His second and third presents are a potato peeler and a fryer. The pack doesn’t appreciate his declaration of _surprise buttsex_ and subsequent makeout session on the couch nearly as much as Derek does.

**Author's Note:**

> I would say this is nothing but fluffy crack, but I've lived this. The rage is real. Seriously. All of Stiles' dialogue and most of the texts are things I said last week. Let's just say my never-ending quest for curly fries had Jacy literally in tears as I told her of the struggle I had. She laughed even harder when I started to write this. Hey, I've written about my drunk adventures, why not my rage-y ones?
> 
> Also yes, that autocorrect is real. FML.
> 
> Feel free to come harass me on [tumblr](http://dream-mancer.tumblr.com/).


End file.
